


we just might be bulletproof

by statusquo_ergo



Series: a fire in the sage's mansion [7]
Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crying Mike, Fix-It, M/M, Season/Series 08, comforting Harvey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 04:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15677748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/statusquo_ergo/pseuds/statusquo_ergo
Summary: Everything is going so well.Mike will be so proud.





	we just might be bulletproof

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: We always see Harvey crossing lines and losing his cool to protect Mike, so I wish you would write a fic where Mike is the desperate one. Something with tears maybe? I’m a sucker for crying Mike and comforting Harvey. If it could be a fix-it for Mike leaving it would be awesome. Anyway I trust your writing, I know it’s going to be amazing!
> 
> Oh goodness…
> 
> Well, amazing or not, this takes place right on the heels of “[Promises, Promises](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s08e03)” (s08e03) and ignores all subsequent episodes.
> 
> Thanks to [FrivolousSuits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits) for the brainstorming help!

Harvey presses the receiver to his ear.

_Ring…_

It’s been a rough week, but he made it through.

_Ring… Ring…_

Even with Robert and Louis and Donna all ganging up against him, Harvey stuck to his guns, and he fought for a win he deserved.

_Ring… Ring… Ring…_

More to the point, Anna Reed got the justice _she_ deserved. Everything’s turned out okay; Mike would be proud of him.

_Ring—_

“Hello?”

Harvey grins. Mike _will_ be proud of him.

“Hey, rookie.”

Mike doesn’t say anything; he must be surprised, hearing from Harvey so suddenly, without warning, after all the silence. Or maybe he’s just had a long day. Yes, that’s probably it. Saving the world one Fortune 500 at a time is a difficult task even under the best of circumstances, and he’s only just getting started.

Harvey’s smile has only just began to slip.

“Harvey?”

There it is.

“You were expecting Bruce Wayne?”

Mike laughs, and Harvey tells himself the sound has always been that tinny.

“The hell do you want now, old man?”

Harvey snickers. “A case came across my desk I thought you’d be interested in. You got a minute?”

The pause doesn’t mean anything. Mike is just tired.

“I’ve always got time for you.”

_It’s time, Harvey. It’s time._

Harvey shakes his head, a violent tremor, and rests his free arm on his desk. Mike wasn’t trying to be ironic, surely; it was a simple coincidence. An accident of divergent priorities.

He clears his throat and curls his hand into a fist.

“East Side Legal clinic filed a class action against David Fox,” he says breezily. “It seems that he has a bad habit of criminally underpaying the building’s maintenance staff.”

“East Side Legal Clinic is filing a class action,” Mike deadpans. “Gee, where have I heard that one before?”

Laughing a little too loudly, Harvey wonders how he could’ve missed that, choosing to forget how narrow-minded and distracted he’s been over the past few days. Weeks. Months. Whatever.

“What exactly are you implying?” he taunts.

“Harvey, you sentimental bastard,” Mike teases back. “How’d you fall into this one?”

Harvey flicks his thumbnail underneath his middle finger. “I found our facilities manager, Anna Reed— I found her crying in the bathroom, if you can believe it,” he says. “I leant her my handkerchief, and when she came to return it, she told me about how her mother needed an operation that they couldn’t afford because Fox wouldn’t pay her for all her overtime work.”

_I need twenty-five thousand dollars to move her to full care, or they’ll have to transfer her to a state facility._

Maybe Harvey’s just a sucker for a certain kind of story.

Mike is a good guy, though, and he doesn’t point it out.

“So Fox says he doesn’t have jurisdiction over the maintenance staff because he contracts out that part of the business,” Harvey carries on, “but as soon as I take on Anna’s case, all this shit starts happening, our toilets start clogging and the elevator service to our floor shuts down. Anna gets fired.”

“So you threw in the towel,” Mike fills in.

“You sure do know me,” Harvey says warmly.

Mike hums; Harvey clears his throat again.

“I had Donna hand-deliver the class action to Fox this afternoon,” he says. “She’s going to send the final paperwork down tomorrow morning, he’s already agreed to sign.”

“In return for…”

Nothing much. Nothing I wouldn’t have offered in her place.

“He’s going to rehire Anna and pay the maintenance crew a fair wage,” Harvey emphasizes. “All I have to do is give him complimentary legal services for the next year.”

“Harvey.”

“It’s alright,” he insists. “It’s worth it. I can handle one more client if it means all those people will finally be earning what they deserve.”

And now, after all I’ve suffered through, all the beatings I took while I was already on the ground, at least this story has a happy ending. At least we’ve got that much, at least I have this to bring to you.

“Harvey, how the hell did you come up with that idea?”

Harvey smirks. “You wanna know how I came up with the idea?” he parrots. “It was easy. You know what I did?”

“What?”

Harvey closes his eyes and feels his smile soften.

“I thought, ‘What would Mike do?’”

So how about that?

Mike’s answering silence weighs heavy, only growing heavier the longer it drags on; the secret went down so much smoother when he told it to Donna, it made so much sense that first time around. All he wanted, all he’s trying to do is hand Mike a win, tell him a story he can be proud of; he just thought that maybe… Maybe this case…

Harvey startles when Mike chuckles softly.

“I never really thought of myself as the kind of guy to leave a legacy.”

And what’s he supposed to say to that?

_You meant a lot to Mike, which means you mean a lot to me._

Harvey slouches down in his seat.

“It hasn’t been the same around here without you.”

Mike laughs again.

“Right back at you.”

Leaning back, Harvey presses the blade of his hand against his mouth as his eyes go out of focus.

“I miss you, Mike.”

Mike hums softly, and Harvey tries to smile again.

“You happy out there?”

I hope so.

“You doing good?”

Mike laughs, again.

“It isn’t like I thought it would be.”

Oh, Mike. It never is.

“The world wasn’t saved in a day.”

“Do you need any help?”

Harvey frowns at the sudden digression. Does _he_ need any help? No, no, the whole point of this story is that they’ve already got their happy ending. A present for Mike, a show that they’re doing what they need to to get along without him, that they’ve learned what he tried to teach him, that they’re better for having known him. That Harvey is better for having had the chance to have him near for so long.

“I think we’re gonna be fine,” Harvey ventures. “Unless you know something you’re not telling me.”

“Now that Fox has you under his thumb,” Mike says bluntly, “I mean, you don’t know what kind of shit he’s going to ask you to pull.”

Honestly, he’s been trying not to think about that part.

“Don’t worry about us,” Harvey says, doing his best to sound like he means every word. “We’ll manage. You just worry about running that firm of yours.”

Mike makes some kind of guttural snorting sound that hurts Harvey’s ear and makes him sick in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m trying not to think about that.”

Oh, no you don’t.

“Mike,” Harvey presses, sitting up straight and narrowing his eyes, “are you doing okay? Is everything alright?”

Mike sighs out through his teeth. “I’m good,” he says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Mike.”

“I’m okay,” Mike repeats. “Listen, congratulations on your case, I’m glad you helped those people. I’m proud of you.”

Harvey should be happy to hear it, and yet.

“Mike, are you sure you’re alright?”

Mike sighs. “Yeah,” he says wearily. “It was great to hear from you.”

“It’s been great talking to you,” Harvey replies. “You call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Hanging up the receiver, Harvey rests his chin on top of his folded hands and wishes he could believe that.

Maybe if he gives it a couple of hours.

\---

“Mister Specter, there’s a Tom Hagen here to see you?”

Harvey looks perplexedly down at the intercom and wonders if it’s actually possible that he’s employing a receptionist who hasn’t seen _The Godfather._

“What does he want?” he asks apprehensively.

The receptionist murmurs something to Harvey’s guest and clears her throat into the intercom. “He says it’s about, uh, Genco Abbandando?”

It couldn’t be.

“Send him up,” Harvey directs.

Surely it isn’t.

For a whole minute, he doesn’t move a muscle.

Then the door opens.

“Another pezzonovante?” Harvey blurts out impulsively, and Mike grins.

“What can I say,” he says, spreading his arms wide, “you’ve got yourself a great reputation.”

Grinning back, Harvey stands, stepping out from behind his desk with his arms open to grab Mike in a firm embrace.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks as Mike presses his face right into the crook of Harvey’s neck. “Leaving Seattle to fend for itself without you?”

Mike briefly tightens his grasp around Harvey before he takes a miniscule step back to look him in the eye. “I think they’ll survive,” he says dryly. “But why the hell do you think I’m here? I heard you were trying to get into the pro bono game, I figured you could use someone to show you how it’s done.”

Harvey shakes his head disbelievingly, unable to completely wipe the smile from his face.

“I wouldn’t mind a little extra help,” he says, clapping his hand down on Mike’s shoulder. “But Mike, come on, be honest with me.”

Mike’s cheer begins to splinter, the fragility of him sharply illuminated as he turns away slightly, shyly, shamefacedly. Harvey lowers his hand, parting his lips and furrowing his brow, and waits.

Shoving his hand back through his hair, Mike smiles a thin sort of smile, lowering his gaze and shaking his head.

“I’m not a managing partner,” he mutters into his chest. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Sure you are,” Harvey says plaintively, and why would he say it if it wasn’t true?

Mike shakes his head and steps away. “No. I’m not.”

“Mike…”

“The firm’s a mess,” he says, moving quickly past the formalities, cutting right to the core. “All the work I want to do, all the work I was _expecting_ to do, I can’t do any of it because I’m spending all my time on paperwork and delegation and business calls. Not calls asking me to _do_ business, calls _about_ doing business, calls about keeping the _firm_ in business.” He laughs wryly, and Harvey clenches his fists.

“Rachel’s taken over most of the management because I just…” Mike shrugs feebly. “I didn’t mean to, I just—wasn’t doing it, it wasn’t happening, but she doesn’t want to do it, either; she wants the same thing I do, she wants to practice law, on the ground. But she can’t let the firm collapse, she can’t stand by and watch everything fall apart around us, so she’s trying to do all the work herself and she _hates_ it, and she— She doesn’t hate me, I don’t think, but—she might, I think she kind of does, we fight about it all the time, and I don’t blame her, I kind of hate me, too, but I don’t know how to fix it, I don’t…”

He looks up wistfully, and Harvey’s heart begins to ache.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Come back. Come back here, come back home.

How terribly selfish of you, Mister Specter.

“Mike,” Harvey says, slipping his hands into his pockets and ambling forward. “I’ll help you however I can, and I think you know that. But you’re smart, and you’re clever. You push limits, yours and everyone else’s, and you get things done that I wouldn’t even try.”

Mike shakes his head again, and Harvey forces himself to keep smiling.

“Anything you want, you can get it. I know you can.”

It’s hard to tell if Mike believes him or not. Shuffling slowly toward the door, he presses his fist to the glass wall and leans all his weight onto his arm, and Harvey forces himself to stand still.

Mike sighs.

“What if I don’t know what I want?”

Harvey isn’t even surprised.

“I think you do.”

I’m sure.

I hope.

\---

It’s been a long day.

Harvey shuts his computer down, finally, hunching over his desk and massaging his temples. Mike’s visit this morning was a welcome surprise at the time, but to say Harvey had a hard time concentrating on work after he left is, at best, an absurd understatement. The whole point of Mike’s big move was to come to terms with who he is, to admit that however much he owes the firm, however much it’s done for him, however much family he’s gotten out of it, he can’t keep pretending that its values are the same as his, that he’s truly satisfied with the work he’d be doing if he stayed. The whole point of the move was to make him _happy,_ to make him… _satisfied_ with himself. With his _life._

And now…

Raising his head, Harvey looks out the glass door into the empty hall. Surely Mike wouldn’t have flown all the way across the country just for one simple drop-in, one quick tryst at the office, but what else does he expect to get? What else does he want to do?

Why did he come back?

Harvey would ask him; he would call, and he would ask him that very thing, but…

Isn’t that just the way.

Standing slowly, achingly, he trudges over to his closet to fetch his coat. Much as he just wants to go home, the idea of eating takeout in his empty living room to the background noise of old episodes of _Frasier_ is somehow even more depressing than manufacturing more work to keep himself at the office for another five hours. There’s no need for it, anyway; Donna is long gone for the day, Louis and Robert too, and Harvey doesn’t have to pay the associates any mind if he doesn’t want. It’s just as well; they probably wouldn’t appreciate the interruption.

Riding the elevator down to the lobby, he wonders where he should go for dinner. What time is it now, ten? Plenty of places are still open, this being the city that never sleeps, but Harvey doesn’t much feel like huddling in at an all-night diner or a neighborhood falafel joint.

_I said I wanted to take you out the night you told me you were leaving._

Harvey steps out the front door and takes a left down Lexington.

_We never got around to it._

It must be masochism taking him down this road; he isn’t even surprised when he stops in front of Benjamin Steakhouse Prime on fortieth.

Never got around to it, huh Mike?

All the same, we did the best we could.

Pushing the door open, Harvey tries to gather his dignity as he walks to the hostess’s dais.

“Good evening,” she says with a practiced smile. “How many?”

“Just me,” Harvey replies, smiling back. She nods, cradling a menu in her arms and leading him in; Harvey weaves between the tables to follow her.

Maybe he should’ve invited Mike along.

The hostess seats him at a table for two in the corner and passes the menu over with an assurance that his waiter will be by soon to tell him about the evening’s specials.

If Mike wanted to see Harvey again, he would’ve called.

The waiter arrives almost immediately, rattling off the specials before Harvey can tell him he’ll just have the ribeye and a glass of Malbec. It’s fine, though; the guy seems happy that Harvey isn’t going to draw this out, that no one will be staying late on his account. No, the ones they have to look out for are those people in the corner booth, the big group who won’t stop talking and laughing, picking at their meals in between stories and private jokes. Harvey glares at them coldly for a minute before the futility of it becomes too obvious to ignore.

A few other patrons linger over their meals; there, in the center of the floor, a man and a woman sharing a plate of appetizers. Against the wall, a trio of women who’ve all set their bags in a pile on their table’s vacant fourth chair. At the opposite side of the restaurant at a table identical to Harvey’s, another man sits, similarly alone.

Harvey narrows his eyes. It couldn’t be.

“Excuse me? Yeah, could I get the rest of this to go?”

Surely it isn’t.

Except that it is.

Impulsively, Harvey raises his hand to flag the waiter down as he walks back from Mike’s table toward the kitchen, balancing a mostly-uneaten plate of blackened swordfish on his arm.

“Sir?” the poor kid asks. Harvey smiles sympathetically.

“I ordered a ribeye a minute ago,” he says, “but something’s just come up, and I actually won’t be able to stay. I’ll still pay for it,” he hurries on at the kid’s panicked expression, “but if you could rush the check, I’d appreciate it.”

The kid scampers off with a nod or something, probably, though Harvey can’t bring himself to pay too much attention.

Was Mike drawn here by the same force Harvey was? The same memory, the same vague sense of regret? Melancholy? Lamentation?

Maybe it’s just a coincidence.

Mike picks up his spoon and begins spinning it between his fingers until it clatters to the floor; Harvey watches for him to bend down and pick it up, but he only lowers his gaze and sets his arms on top of the table. The full glass of water by his elbow is dangerously close to being knocked over, but Harvey isn’t sure Mike even realizes it’s there.

Maybe he should let Mike know he’s here.

Mike pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes; the waiter returns to drop off a paper bag of his leftovers and Mike looks up when he hands over the check, smiling wanly and sticking his hand into his pocket to fumble for his wallet.

Harvey’s disconcerted gaze darts away as another, somewhat pushier waiter arrives with his own check; his lips pinched together, Harvey passes off his credit card without a word.

Mike picks up his paper bag of leftovers and stands, and Harvey can’t let him walk away again. He can’t.

Not like he has much of a choice.

Grinding his teeth, clenching his fists, he glares at the raucous party in the corner booth, the indulgent couple feeding each other forkfuls of seared scallops and lump crab cakes, the trio with their heads bent together as they murmur about this and that. The kitchen door that his fucking waiter still hasn’t come back through with his goddamn _fucking_ card, and doesn’t he know that Harvey’s got that thing that people never get, a second chance to make things right? Doesn’t he know that Mike is in danger of walking away forever, back to a life he doesn’t even want and that doesn’t want him? Doesn’t he knows what he’s _risking?_

Harvey’s about to storm the facilities himself when the waiter stalks out with a billfold and pen, making a beeline for Harvey and passing the bounty over with nothing but a shallow nod of his head that Harvey barely notices. Dashing off a signature that resembles nothing so much as a cheap forgery of his own, he shoves his credit card into his pocket, slipping his arms into his coat as he walks, grunting a distracted response to the hostess’s farewell and tripping out onto the street, his eyes darting left and right even though it’s been minutes, hours, Mike must be gone by now, surely, Harvey will never see him, never hear from him again—

In the distance, Mike stands with his hand outstretched for a taxi, and Harvey could cry with relief.

So how about that second chance?

Walking forward before he can think better of it, Harvey begins to raise his own hand as he draws near. Mike’s eyes dart over to him and then back to the road as his mouth quirks at the corner.

“Harvey.”

Harvey slips his hands into his coat pockets.

“Mike.”

Mike keeps his arm up for a cab.

“Late night?”

Harvey purses his lips and looks out at the oncoming traffic.

“What can I tell you,” he says, “this pro bono stuff is harder than you made it look.”

Mike’s lips stretch in a forced smile as he reaches his arm out a bit further to the right.

“How long are you in town for?” Harvey asks.

“Not long,” Mike replies readily. “Like you said, Seattle needs me. Gotta get back to the clinic.”

“The firm,” Harvey corrects. Mike nods.

“Yeah.”

The clunk of a muffler well past its prime is undercut by a roaring motorcycle speeding past, and Mike tucks his arm in even though he’s buffered from the traffic by the full width of a parking lane.

“I’ll probably try to fly back tomorrow.”

Harvey hums quietly.

“That’s pretty short notice; what’ll you do if you can’t get a ticket?”

Mike shrugs.

“Fly back the next day.”

“Mm.”

The traffic light turns red, and Mike drops his hand as the cars stop coming.

Harvey would say something, but he isn’t sure exactly of the conversation he wants to start.

“So,” he says, coughing slightly, “it’s getting late.”

“Early day tomorrow?” Mike asks. Harvey smiles uncomfortably.

“Every day. It was great to see you.”

Mike nods. “You too. You should come out to visit sometime.”

“I’d like that,” Harvey agrees. It’s not a particularly convincing lie; Mike probably sees right through it, though he doesn’t say as much.

“We’ll talk,” he says. Mike narrows his eyes at the flashing pedestrian walkway sign.

“Mm-hm.”

Okay then.

Harvey looks down at his shoes and takes a small step backwards.

“Have a safe flight.”

“Thanks.”

So…that’s that.

Walking down Lexington, Harvey glances back over his shoulder at Mike, who’s raised his hand again and edged out into the street.

There isn’t a cab in sight.

\---

Harvey makes it into the office even before Robert.

He checks his watch; five oh four. Robert usually gets in around six thirty.

Harvey takes a right down the hall toward his old office. Jessica’s old office. Robert’s new office.

Anyway.

He doesn’t make it halfway before he turns back around. Mike’s old office will do him better.

Harvey’s old office. Harvey’s _current_ office.

Right.

Harvey switches the light on and hangs his coat in the closet, pacing across the floor to his desk, where he sits. What’s on the docket for today? More of the catfight between Samantha and Alex for name partnership, probably, plus whatever Katrina is doing to prove herself worthy of the senior partnership position Louis is determined to promote her into. Robert will do whatever hardheaded shit he thinks he has to to whip the firm into shape, bossing them all around like his actions don’t have consequences, and Donna will go behind all their backs to subvert him and try to run everything herself.

Same old, same old.

Harvey opens his laptop and logs into PracticePanther on autopilot. There must be _something_ for him to do today; his calendar reminds him that he’s gotta figure out where they stand on the Paxson CrytoGen thing, so he probably needs to talk to Alex. Maybe Robert. Or maybe he needs to talk to Alex and very much _not_ talk to Robert.

This is a hell of a firm they’re building up.

Lights start turning on in the halls; maybe Robert’s shown up early, or Louis. Maybe one of the receptionists. A couple of associates. It’s not important.

Harvey clicks on the Activities tab and starts downloading all the attachments he can find.

Mike is on his way back to Seattle.

Harvey watches the progress bar inch up.

Mike flew out to New York City for all of a day, just for a bit of advice.

Three out of twelve documents completed.

Mike went to Benjamin Steakhouse Prime for dinner, maybe for the same reason Harvey did. Nostalgia, or masochism. Something in that family.

Four out of twelve.

Harvey nudges his chair back and begins to spin slowly. He’s just made it a full turn, getting started on his second, when the phone begins to ring, and who the fuck is calling at this godforsaken hour? What time is it, anyway, five thirty? Something like that; it’s still dark out, anyway. But Harvey can’t be held accountable for those little details, being that he’s running on about five minutes of sleep.

Scowling, he reaches out for the receiver.

“What?”

“I couldn’t.”

Shoving his chair back toward the desk, Harvey catches himself along the cut glass edge and looks frantically down at the display screen.

“Mike?” Harvey’s narrowed eyes begin to water along the lower lid. “What’s wrong?”

Mike breathes heavily, and Harvey tightens his grip on his desk.

“I couldn’t get on the plane.”

Harvey raises his gaze to the glass walls, the vacant hall beyond, the day awaiting him with its repetitions of old tracks, its promise of nothing new, its old news tactics and all the knives waiting to stab him in the back, and then looks back down at the innocuous display.

_Michael Ross._

“Mike, what happened?”

“I don’t…”

Harvey shakes his head at the thickness in Mike’s voice, the tears surely threatening to fall from his eyes, and stands out of his chair.

“Where are you?”

Mike laughs weakly.

“Who fucking knows.”

Clenching his hand into a fist, Harvey presses his knuckles down against the glass.

“Listen to me, Mike,” he commands. “I need you to look around, I need you to figure out where you are, or get somewhere you recognize, and I need you to tell me where that is, and I need you to stay there, because I’m coming to get you.”

There’s a soft sound he can’t identify; walking, but on what surface, he isn’t sure.

“I’m at a church,” Mike says then, making an obvious effort to speak clearly. “I’m outside a church.”

Immediately, Harvey swaps PracticePanther for Google Maps; sure enough, there’s a church within walking distance of Terminal A at LaGuardia. A cemetery, in fact; St. Michael’s Cemetery, well, that’s a hell of a thing.

“Go outside,” Harvey says, “go stand at the main entrance, by the road, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Harvey…”

“I’m on my way,” Harvey says firmly, drawing his shoulders taught. “I’m leaving right now, Mike, just hold on.”

The line goes dead, and he tries not to let it terrify him. Mike is at the cemetery outside of LaGuardia, he’s waiting for Harvey by the front gate. He’s okay, just a little rattled. There’s no reason to worry, no reason to be upset.

What kind of bullshit is that?

Harvey grabs his cell phone out of his pocket and slams out Ray’s number, begging him to come pick Harvey up fifteen minutes ago and only panicking for a second when he loses service in the elevator. It takes about twenty-five seconds to land in the lobby, another ten to sprint out the door, and then there’s nothing to do but wait and try not to count every passing moment.

From end to end, the whole endeavor takes twenty-seven minutes.

Not nearly soon enough, they’re in Queens, barreling down Astoria Boulevard until the cemetery comes into view and Harvey sees Mike huddled under a tree, one leg pulled close to his chest and his forehead pressed against his knee. Harvey tries to wait until the car’s stopped before he throws the door open, and he almost makes it.

“Mike,” he cries out, hurrying over to kneel beside him, setting his hand on his arm. “Mike, what happened?”

Mike doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move a muscle; for a moment, an instant borne of the early hour and a restless night, Harvey’s sure he’s come too late, sure it wasn’t an accident that Mike found himself in a cemetery, but then Mike’s shoulders begin to tremble and he curls himself up even smaller, and Harvey hates himself for even thinking such a thing. A vast emptiness opens in the bottom of his heart, spreading out through his veins until his entire body feels numb, blank, inhumanly cold, and he wraps his arms around Mike, pulling him forward until his head falls to Harvey’s shoulder, his body altogether limp and his tears soaking into the soft cotton and starched collar of Harvey’s shirt.

Gritting his teeth, Harvey cradles the back of Mike’s head, holding him close and waiting for his shoulders to stop shaking, his back to stop heaving as he sobs.

None of this is as he imagined it would be.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, for lack of anything better to do. “It’s okay.”

Mike grips his shirtfront and leans in closer, and Harvey nods.

“Okay.”

The wind blows gently past them, and Harvey waits.

After awhile, Mike’s tears slow, his cries falling silent, and Harvey waits.

Then Mike releases his shirt, leaning on the ground to push himself up to stand, and Harvey follows.

“What happened?”

Mike shakes his head.

“They had a flight,” he murmurs. “There was a flight, with tickets, I could’ve bought one. I could’ve gone home.”

Harvey nods, and Mike presses his palms to his eyes.

“Nothing would’ve changed,” he says, his throaty voice a little hard to understand. “We’d be right back where we started, you with Fox, and Robert, and me with the firm, and Rachel, and…” He shakes his head again. “I couldn’t do it.”

The wind picks up a bit and Harvey slips his hands into his pockets, realizing much too late that he’s forgotten his coat.

“I remember when I started working for you,” Mike says more clearly, staring off a thousand yards into the distance. “I was so…amazed at how my life had turned out, it was nothing like what I thought it would be. I was doing things I never thought in a million years I’d be able to do, and I… I loved it so much. And it wasn’t all great, I wasn’t happy every minute of every day, but I never wanted to go back to the way things were before. Not for a second.”

Harvey smiles an understanding little smile, and Mike doesn’t seem to notice, coughing into his fist and narrowing his eyes.

“When Rachel and I went to Seattle,” he says, “it was great, at first, we were so excited, we had such…big plans, we were going to do such amazing things. And it _was_ fun, in the beginning, we were happy to go to work, and we were happy spending time together, we thought we’d made it, we thought we’d ended up where we were supposed to be.”

Harvey nods rhythmically, automatically. Who hadn’t thought such a thing, back then?

“And then, after awhile,” Mike says, stronger now, though Harvey can’t be sure if he’s addressing Harvey, or himself, or maybe some imaginary audience, “two months turn into three, and four, and we can’t get away with not knowing things anymore, people stop buying it when we say we’re new, and we’re still figuring things out. We have to be experts, we have to be accountable. We can’t get away with just doing what we want, we have— We’re responsible for everything, and every _one,_ and it… It isn’t fun anymore. It isn’t good, it doesn’t make us happy.”

Harvey’s empty heart suddenly closes around a heavy stone, pounding in his chest as he tries not to think of all the ways he could have made this easier, all the things he could have done, the mistakes he made and the ones he didn’t even realize _were_ mistakes until it was far too late. Mike looks up with a sallow smile, and Harvey does everything in his power to resist the urge to hold him.

“And I was going to get on that plane,” Mike says with a hitch in his voice and a glimmer in his eyes, “I was going to go back there, I was going to keep trying, but then I remembered…” He shakes his head with a sardonic little laugh, and Harvey winces and clenches his fists.

“That life I was expecting isn’t the one I have to go back to.”

“Mike.”

“What am I going to do?”

Of all the times not to have an answer prepared. Harvey shakes his head, and Mike makes one of those laughing crying sounds that makes Harvey hurt all over.

“Everything about this has been a mistake,” he says, looking up at the sky. “I should’ve told you what we were planning, I should’ve told you when we decided— I should’ve invited you to the _wedding,_ I should’ve… I should’ve told you before the reception, I should’ve…given notice, I should’ve done everything—better, I should’ve done it all so much better than I did. I fucked everything up, I did it— I didn’t do any of this right, and now I’m being punished for it and you know what, I deserve it.”

“ _Mike._ ”

“I can’t go back there.”

“So don’t.”

Mike looks at him suddenly, his neck snapping around and his shining eyes wide and disbelieving, and Harvey doesn’t know if he meant to say it or not, but it’s out there now, and he can’t deny that it’s the truth.

Might as well lean into it.

“Mike, look,” Harvey dares to go on, “I’m not telling you to cut and run, but the whole point of taking this job was that you were unhappy here, and moving to Seattle was finally going to let you be who you really are, doing what you’re meant to do. And I’m not saying everything was supposed to be easy, and I’m not saying it _should_ be, but what you’re saying about it, everything that it’s turned into, and everything that it isn’t—” He fumbles weakly, wringing his wrists and searching for the words, the keys to making all of this clear to Mike, to both of them.

Mike rubs his fingers under his eye and watches Harvey stoically.

Harvey grimaces.

“You aren’t supposed to want to come back.”

The world I built around you hasn’t finished burning down.

The silence breaks with the sound of oncoming traffic, a passing airplane; Harvey shoves his hands back into his pockets and drops his head, staring down at the ground.

Mike turns away timidly, folding his arms and pressing them into his ribs.

“I just…” He shrugs pathetically. “I thought I’d finally found a place I really belonged.”

Harvey laughs under his breath, even though he knows he shouldn’t.

“You should know by now that if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

“‘Move over,’” Mike quips, “‘I’m emailing the firm we’ve just found our next associate.’”

Harvey shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

Mike raises his head, narrowing his eyes against the rising sun.

“I’m not,” he says. “Actually, I’m pretty sure meeting you was the best thing that ever could’ve happened to me.”

Harvey hums. “Even after Seattle?”

Mike shrugs and takes a step away. “At least you gave me somewhere to come back to.”

A place he really belongs. Harvey smiles down into his chest.

“You know I’ll always be here for you.” He rolls his shoulders back and raises his head up again. “Anything you need, if I’ve got it, if I can get it, it’s yours.”

Tightening the fold of his arms, Mike smirks to himself, glancing at Harvey out of the corner of his eye.

“For better, for worse,” he says wryly, “for richer, for poorer.”

He hadn’t meant for it to come out in quite those terms, but now that Mike’s pointed it out… Well, why the hell not?

“In sickness and in health,” Harvey answers. “You know there’s no way I’m letting you do this alone.”

In an instant, Mike’s face crumples, meek and frail; Harvey offers his hand, and Mike presses his palm to his eye as he steps forward into his embrace.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you.”

Rubbing his hand up and down Mike’s back, Harvey leans his temple against the side of his head.

“It’s not about deserving,” he murmurs. “I’m glad you came back.”

Mike nods and presses in closer.

“I love you.”

Harvey skates his nails down Mike’s spine. “Okay.”

They stand for a moment, resetting, readjusting, absorbing everything that’s just happened, everything that’s coming to a head, every right choice and every wrong one leading finally to this moment in time, this place in the universe. Mike leans into Harvey’s hand, turning his face up to level their gazes, and smiles a tired smile.

Harvey does his best to smile back.

“I love you, too.”

Holding his eyes for a moment, Mike finally breaks the stillness with a breathy grin, his shoulders dropping heavily as he reaches up to clutch Harvey’s arm, maybe to ground himself in some small way, maybe to make sure Harvey won’t disappear, as if such a thing were possible.

“I feel like I should already be apologizing for everything that’s going to happen,” he says, but Harvey shakes his head immediately.

“Don’t,” he says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“At least one of us does.”

Oh, Mike. You know more than you think you do.

Sliding his hand up to the back of Mike’s neck, Harvey shifts their positions just slightly, angling them just a bit more perpendicular.

“I love you,” he repeats. Mike’s eyes begin to shine again, but he leans forward all the same; Harvey moves to meet him across the gap as Mike’s arms slide around Harvey’s back, clinging to him, and Harvey tries not to think about the last time they held onto each other so tight.

Mike breaks away to press his forehead to the crook of Harvey’s neck.

“Are we going to be okay?”

Rubbing circles on Mike’s back, Harvey turns to press his lips to his temple and nose at the hair above his ear.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises.

We’re off to one hell of a start.

Nowhere to go but up.

**Author's Note:**

> “How did I get here, Donna? I’m at odds with Robert and Louis, and now even you, over something two months ago shouldn’t have even shown up on my radar.”  
> —Harvey, “Promises, Promises”
> 
> I’m guesstimating that it’s been about two months since Mike moved to Seattle, meaning it’s also been about two months since Harvey and Mike have spoken to each other prior to the start of the story.
> 
> “It’s time, Harvey. It’s time.”  
> —Mike, “[Good-Bye](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s07e16)” (s07e16)
> 
> “Perhaps you can’t see it, or maybe you won’t.”  
> “What exactly are you implying?”  
> “You’re sentimental about him.”  
> —Gareth Mallory and M, _Skyfall_ (2012)
> 
> “I need to move her to full care, or I’ll have to transfer her to a state facility.”  
> —Dr. Shrager to Mike, “[Pilot](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s01e01)” (s01e01)
> 
> “How’d you think of this?”  
> “Easy. I just thought, ‘What would Mike do?’”  
> —Donna and Harvey, “Promises, Promises”
> 
> “Seriously, Harvey, this is great, but why didn’t you talk to Mike?”  
> “Because I thought instead of calling and asking for a solution, I’d rather call and tell him a story with a happy ending.”  
> —Donna and Harvey, “Promises, Promises”
> 
> “Listen. Normally, I’d suggest that we settle. But then I got to thinking. W-W-H-D. What would Harvey do?”  
> “Steamroll her.”  
> —Mike and Harvey, “[She Knows](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s02e01)” (s02e01)
> 
> “Mr. Specter. It’s a pleasure meeting you, but I wasn’t aware we had a meeting.”  
> “We don’t. I know we’ve never met, but you meant a lot to Mike, which means you mean a lot to me, and I just got a proposal on your behalf.”  
> —Nick Turner and Harvey, “[Pecking Order](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s08e02)” (s08e02)
> 
> “I’m not just a lawyer to Jerome, okay? I’m I’m more like Robert Duvall in _The Godfather_. His consigliere.”  
>  —Mike, “[Identity Crisis](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s01e08)” (s01e08)
> 
> Tom Hagen is Robert Duvall’s character in _The Godfather_ ; Hagen replaces Genco Abbandando as the Corleone family’s _consigliere_ after Abbandando’s death.
> 
> “Another pezzonovante…”  
> “Well—this wasn’t enough time, Michael. Wasn’t enough time…”  
> —Michael Corleone and Tom Hagen, _The Godfather_ (1972)
> 
>  _Pezzonovante_ refers to a person of importance.
> 
> “You’re getting a great reputation, Sonny! I hope you’re enjoying it!”  
> —Tom Hagen, _The Godfather_ (1972)
> 
> “Harvey, this isn’t what we do.”  
> “Mike would have done it.”  
> “And Mike’s not here anymore because he finally came came to terms with the fact that this isn’t what we do.”  
> —Donna and Harvey, “Promises, Promises”
> 
> “I said I wanted to take you out the night you told me you were leaving.”  
> “We never got around to it.”  
> —Harvey and Mike, “[Pound of Flesh](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s04e05)” (s04e05)
> 
> “Move over. I’m emailing the firm we’ve just found our next associate.”  
> —Harvey, “Pilot”
> 
> “How’d you know?”  
> “I knew, and there’s no way I’m letting you do this alone.”  
> —Mike and Harvey, “[25th Hour](https://www.springfieldspringfield.co.uk/view_episode_scripts.php?tv-show=suits&episode=s05e16)” (s05e16)
> 
> [Benjamin Steakhouse Prime](http://www.benjaminsteakhouse.com/prime/) is standing in for [Jacobs and Co. Steakhouse](https://jacobssteakhouse.com/), the steakhouse in Toronto where Mike and Harvey’s dinner was filmed in “Pound of Flesh.”
> 
> PracticePanther is a highly-rated law practice management software.
> 
> [St. Michael’s Cemetery](http://stmichaelscemetery.com/) really is within walking distance of LaGuardia Airport.


End file.
